Crossover Jurisdiction
by KK1522
Summary: Its back...in pieces...Just reposting this fic so I don't lose it. Last two Chapters are up. A different take on the idea of a CSI spinoff, 3's a crowd...
1. Tangent

Decided to repost this fic, cuz I myself do like it…and I have this fear that my comp. is gonna crash…and I just want it archived somewhere…"how to not sound like a narcissistic.." 

Author's note:  Just a little side idea that popped into my head.  My first attempt in developing a personal side to the characters… I only know so much about them, so I'll fill in the blanks as best as I can.  So um yea!  Please review… the feedback helps!

Read On!  

PS: This fic starts in a scene that I created in "Deviant Behavior"  Sara, Grissom and Det. Vega are interviewing a college student at UNLV.  (It's not really necessary to read the other fic…) but I thought I would let you guys know that this scene does have a "reference"  And YES, some things are different.

Right… on to the story!

            "Do you know where you went?" Grissom jumped in.  Mike paused.  A cellphone rang.  The three looked down at their phones.  Mike remained motionless.

            "It's me," Sara answered, unhooking the phone from its clip.  "Hello?" she asked walking away.  The three men watched her leave.  Grissom returned to looking at Mike.

            "Do you remember where you went last night Mr. Halstrom?" he pressed.  Mike reverted his gaze back to the older man.

            "Um-across town, to this party, out around Mayberry," he answered, rubbing his neck.

            "How did you know about this party?" Vega asked.  Mike glanced up at him, then looked at the ground.

            "The girl that threw it…Susie; we're good friends," he finished.  Vega looked at Grissom.

            "Are you serious?  Sure I'll help ya out," Sara continued with her conversation.  Vega and Grissom through her an irritated look.  She didn't notice, her back was facing them; she was looking out on to the football field.

            "How'd you break your arm?" Vega asked, trying to keep the discussion going.  Mike looked down at his arm, encased in the red cast.  He nodded back towards the field.

            "Flag Football," he answered shrugging.  Vega gave a slight smile.

            "I didn't think it was that rough."  Mike chuckled.

            "Not usually.  Only when you piss off the wrong people… things get a little out of control," he answered, smiling.

            "Mike do you know who this is?" Grissom asked, handing Mike a picture of Elizabeth taken about a month before she died.  Mike studied the picture for a few moments.

            "Yea-It's a deal.  Yea—K.  Bye," Sara finally finished her conversation.  She looked up to find Grissom looking over at her.  He raised his eyebrows in an annoyed look.  She put her phone back on the clip and walked back to the group.

            "Finished?" he whispered, with an edge to his tone.  Before she could reply, Mike finally answered.

            "Yea—we've met a few times before, at parties and stuff.  Why?"  Sara turned her attention to their suspect.

            "Do you know her name?" Vega asked, trying to get to the point.  Mike stared at him.

            "We never got around to names," he deadpanned.  Vega frowned.

            "But you've seen her before," Grissom noted.

            "Yea—here and there.  I think we were in the same class once, but it was awhile ago," he paused.  "Is something wrong?"  The three looked at each other.

            "Mike—this girl, Elizabeth Delaney, was found dead in Susie O'Connell's backyard last night, and we're-" Sara started.  Mike gave a horrified look.  "We're trying to figure out who did it."

            "Oh my god.

            "Do you know of anybody who would want to hurt Elizabeth?" Grissom asked.  Mike shook his head.

            "No, I mean, I don't know.  I didn't really know her that well," Mike pleaded.  There was a moment of silence.

            "But you knew who she was," Vega stated.  Mike nodded.

            "So, you were never involved with this girl?" Grissom questioned.  Mike paused, composing himself.  He looked back up at Grissom, with a slight smile on his face.  He shook his head.

            "No.  She wasn't my type,"

            "What do you mean by that?" Vega interjected.

            "She was—I don't know—not my type of woman," Mike shrugged.  Vega gave a smirk.  Mike didn't see it.   He handed the picture back to Grissom.

            "I prefer brunettes anyways," he said, glancing at Sara for a moment, then back at Grissom.  Sara continued to stare, with a blank look on her face, but a small smile escaped.  She bit her lip to try to hide it, but it was to no avail.  Grissom looked down at the picture, and gave a slight nod—as if in agreement.  Then he realized what Mike had actually said—he quickly glanced at his partner, and did a slight double take after seeing her face.  He glared at Mike.  Mike didn't notice, he was busy tossing his socks into his bag.  

            "Do you live on-campus Mike?" Vega asked, trying to change the conversation.

            "No, I a, rent an apartment about five minutes from campus.  Over on Addison."  Vega jotted that down.  "Do you know who did it?" he questioned the two scientists.

            "Well, that's what we're trying to figure out," Grissom answered, tossing a glance over at Sara.  Mike switched his gaze to Sara.

            "Since you went to that party, we're gonna need a sample of your DNA," she directed him, holding up a swab.

            "Hmm, ok.  As long as it helps," he answered, scratching his neck.

            "Open," she ordered him.  He smiled.  She gave him a 'look'.  He opened his mouth.  She quickly swabbed the inside of his cheek.  

            Once she was done, she capped the evidence and placed it in her briefcase.  He watched her do this.  Grissom fixed a stare on him.

            "We're almost done right?" Vegas asked the two.  Mike looked expectantly at all three of them.

            "Yea, I just need his footprints," Sara said fishing out the large plastic sheets.  "Stand up," she commanded him.  He did so.  "Lift your right foot."

            "Your right or mine?" he asked playfully.  She looked up at him, giving him a aggravated look.  

            "Yours," was all she said.  Grissom managed a tiny smile.


	2. DomGil GilDom

            "Small," Dom remarked looking around Sara's apartment.  He lookd towards the living room, then at the kitchen—then at the dark look Sara was giving him.  

            "But cozy?" He was trying to save face.  She shook her head and toosed her bag on to the kitchen table.

            "Do you want something to drink?" she asked opening the refrigerator.  He was still looking around.

            "Dom?"

            "Oh-a—got anything with a kick?" he asked rubbing his hands together.  

            She just stared at him.

            "No?  Um, water's fine then."  His hands dropped down by his side.

            He almost didn't react quick enough to the Poland Spring bottle that was hurled at him.

            "I'm gonna go change.  So just a—sit on the couch and keep yourself busy," she directed him, heading towards the bedroom door.  He gave a small smile, and sat down on the couch without a fuss, leaning back for comfort.

            After a moment, he put his foot up for comfort, but that proceeded to knock papers and books off the table.  He quickly sat up and looked towards her bedroom door, as if expecting her to barge back out and yell at him. Upon seeing no reaction, he quickly ducked down and started to pick up his mess.  As he was stacking the papers and books, he came across dark red book—untitled.

            He was intrigued.

            Running his hand over the cover, he quickly opened to the middle of the text.  It was handwritten.

_            "Today…nothing.  AGAIN.  Did I read to much into it?  No, that's not possible, he knew what he was saying.  Is it all a game?  Is he capable of playing that game?  He makes me so…mad.  Why should I even care?  Why am I doing this to myself?  Dammit. He had to say that.  Just when I gave up hope.  He had to say that.  Beauty.  Dammit.  Damn you.  Damn you G-"_

            "WHAT are you doing?!!" Dom slammed the book shut, and quickly looked up.

            "Nothing.  I-I a accidentally knocked over some stuff, and I-I was cleaning it up—You look nice?"  She gave him a cold stare.

            "Thanks," she didn't even try to hide her sarcasm.  She quickly walked over and took the book away from him.

            "How much did you read?!" she demanded.

            "I-I a have no idea what you're talkinga bout," he swallowed hard.  She stared at him.

            "Sara—please—I-" She shook her head and turned around.

            "Whatever Dom."  He didn't say anything.

            "Ready?" she asked walking towards the kitchen table; towards her keys.

            "Um-yeah?" he was confused, but he shrugged it off, and quickly got out of his chair.  She was already out the door.  He hastily picked up his briefcase, and quickly strode out the door to catch her.

* * * * * * * * * 

            "Let me talk to him first," Sara said, killing the engine.  Dom remained quiet, he was to busy stacking papers in his briefcase neatly.  

            "Dom?"

            "Ok," he finally answered.  He carefully closed the briefcase, and quickly snapped it shut.  He cleaned his glasses, then finally jumped out of the car.  Sara was leaning against the hood, waiting for him.

            "Ready?" she asked, as she headed towards the entrance.

            "Of course," he answered saucily.  

            He checked his watch before he opened the door.

            "After you," he gestured inside.  Sara smiled at him, then ducked under his arm.

            "Grissom should be in his office, but we'll run by the lab first," she noted, checking the lounge as she went by.  Dom nodded absentmindedly, looking around at his surroundings.

            As they rounded the corner, Sara ducked inside the lab.  

            "Greg?" she called out.  There was silence.

            "Greg?" she tried again.  She heard a sigh.

            "No, Sara, the DNA isn't done yet, I have like fifty samples to go through, plus day shifts' overdue—I need time," Greg Sanders answered exasperated.

            "I know.  That's not what I'm here for.  Have you seen Grissom?" she asked, keeping an eye on Dom.

            'Uh, not lately.  You'd know more than I would—who's that?"  He didn't give Sara time enough to react to his statement.  

            "Oh-a this is-"

            "Dominic Henley," Dom said, sounding slightly smarmy.  He looked at Greg, then glanced around the room in awe.  Greg raised his eyebrows at Sara.  She gave a quick shrug.

            "Wow, do you-do you know what all this stuff does?" Dom asked the two.  

            Silence.

            They were to stunned to speak.

            Finally, Greg just shook his head in disgust.  Sara tried her best to push Dom out the door.

            "I'll be back later Greg," she called out as she closed the door.  She didn't stick around for a response.

            "Don't say anymore, ok?" she ordered him.  He gave a shocked look.

            "Sara—hon—it's ok.  I know what I'm doing," he was trying to reassure her.

            "No Dom, actually you don't.  Were you always like this?" she asked, as they walked down the hallway.

            "Sara, I'm hurt.  Really—I am," he was sounding even more ridiculous.  Sara put her finger to her lips to shut him up.  

            He quieted down.

            She knocked on one of the doors.

            He checked his watch again.

            "Now what?!" came an irritated reply from behind the door.  Sara smiled to herself and slowly opened the door.  The lights were turned on this time, and Grissom was at his desk, staring intently at his laptop.

            "Grissom?" she asked tentatively.  He looked up, only to realize who it was.

            "Sara?"  

            He checked his watch.

            "Why are you back so soon?  Greg hasn't gotten anything back," he said, slowly closing his laptop.

            "Did something go wrong?"

            He was slightly worried.

            She didn't answer, choosing rather to walk in and take a seat in front of his desk.  He watched her, but then noticed the man standing in the doorway.  He looked at Sara, then back up at the man.

            "Who's that?!" he asked abruptly.  

            She seemed to be caught off guard.

            "Oh-ah," she waved for Dom to come in. 

            "Gil Grissom, meet Dominic Henley—an old friend from college."

            Dom extended his hand first.

            "Nice to meet you Mr. Grissom, Sara's told me a lot about you," he looked expectantly at Grissom.  The older man hesitated before shaking hands, then shot Sara a quizzical look.  She didn't notice, she seemed interested more in the carpet than them.  Grissom looked back up at Dom.

            "I don't remember you from Harvard," Grissom stated matter-of-factly.  Dom gave a small laugh.

            That annoyed Grissom.

            "Dom left before you came," Sara pointed out quietly.  Grissom tossed her a look, then came back to staring at Dom.

            "Why are you here Mr. Henley?" Grissom asked slowly.  Dom sat down in the chair adjacent to Sara, tossed his briefcase onto his lap.  He quickly unsnapped the clips and shuffled through some of the papers.

            "Mr. Henley?" Grissom was getting irritated.  He tapped his fingers on his desk.

            "Uh-Dom here is in town for some research," Sara jumped.  She was trying to avoid trouble.  For some reason, this thought amused her.  She didn't see Grissom looking at her.

            He wondered why she seemed so happy.  He bit the inside of his cheek, but then his face fell.  She had been gone for three hours…

            "Uh, yes Mr. Grissom, as Sara said, I am here, in Vegas, to conduct some research-" Grissom tried to keep his composure as he looked back at Dom.

            "What kind of research."  It was more a statement than a question.

            "I'm getting to that-" Dom was fishing out papers.  Grissom sat back, annoyed. 

            "Ah, here we go." 

            He handed a packet over to Grissom.

            "What's this?" he asked reading the front cover. Dom chuckled.

            "Sara tells me that this lab is one of the best in the country-"

            "It is, but what does that have to do with this?" Grissom asked sharply, holding up the packet.  He didn't like where this conversation was heading.

            "Right, let me explain."  He motioned for Grissom to calm down.  

            "Grissom—let him speak.  He has a good idea," Sara finally joined the conversation.  Grissom took a deep breath, and counted to five.

            Sara looked over at Dom, as if telling him to continue.

            "Ok.  I'm sure Sara has told you that I work in Hollywood-"

            "Actually, she's never said anything about you," Grissom deadpanned; a small smirk escaping his lips.

            "Right, ok.  Anyway, I do work out in Hollywood—for a company that researches new ideas for movies and television," Dom explained.  Grissom nodded.  Dom took a deep breath, he was finally getting somewhere.

            "Anyways, a major television network is looking to create a primetime show that would be based around crime scene investigation."

            He paused for effect.

            Grissom didn't show any emotion on his face.

            Silence.

            "Ok." He finally relented.  Dom smiled.

            "Yea—the show would be based around a few characters, such as yourselves," he gestured to the two.

            "And what you guys do when it comes to investigating crimes and such."  He clapped his hands together.

            Silence.

            "So?"

            "So, I'm here to study you guys on the job.  As in follow you guys to a crime scene, and watch what you do, and how you do it ya know?"  Sara watched Grissom as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin.

            Silence.

            "So what you're telling me, is that you want to "shadow" us to a crime scene-"

            "Yes."

            "-So you can 'study' what we really do."

            "Yes," Dom was getting hopeful.

            "And then relay this information back to Hollywood—so they can create a show about it?"

            "Yes—they want a show where it would be plot driven.  Where we see the crime happen, then watch the 'scientists' come out and gather the evidence, and find the right killer.  Granted, they wouldn't succeed all the time—because that-"

            "Doesn't happen in real life," Grissom finished for him.  

            Dom nodded in agreement.

            Grissom remained silent.

            Sara didn't know what he was thinking.

            "What I think you fail to realize Mr. Henley; is that our job is not flashy.  It's not showy.  If it was—I wouldn't be here," Grissom stated.

            Dom thought about that for a moment.

            "Well, they already know that-"

            "We collect evidence from crime scenes, process it, then prosecute accordingly.  There's nothing fancy about that."

            "Well—yes, I know that too, but-"

            "So." 

            Grissom was baiting him. 

            Dom paused, unsure of what was going on.

            Sara even looked confused.

            "So?" Dom asked; puzzled.

            Grissom leaned in, then paused.

            "What makes you think anyone would want to watch it." Note:  thanx for all the reviews.  I think I'm done with this one though.  I hoped u liked it


	3. Tension

* * * * * *

Sara glared at Grissom.  'How could he be so rude?' she thought to herself.  He was still looking at Dom, still looking for his answer.  Sara shifted her gaze from her boss, to the man next to her.  Dom was staring straight back at Grissom, masking his emotions well.  There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

            When Dom didn't answer right away, Grissom sat back in his chair, smiling, almost proudly.  He looked at Dom, in an expectant manner, waiting for the rebuttal.  Dom took a breath in.

            "Sir—that isn't for you to-" a beeper went off, an aggravating interruption.  Grissom glanced at his laying on the desk, Sara shifted her seat to take hers out of its clip, and Dom took his out of a pocket in his briefcase.

            "Shit." Sara looked over at Dom.  "It's me," he said, somewhat angrily, tossing it back into the belly of the briefcase.  He quickly closed it, and snapped the clips down, then stood up.  Sara jumped up quickly, Grissom watched her—brow furrowed.  'What could she see in this guy?' he asked himself, as she hugged Dom.

            "I'm sorry Sara—but it seems my services are needed somewhere else," he said apologetically, pulling away from her.  Sara gave him a confused look.  She checked her watch.

            "At 3 in the morning?" she asked, looking back up at him.  He shrugged, switching the briefcase from his right hand to his left.

            "Your job's 24/7; as is mine," he stated, turning towards Grissom.  He cleared his throat.  "We'll continue this later," he said, extending his hand.  Grissom gave a small laugh.

            "Perhaps," was all he said, shaking Dom's hand.  Dom shook his head, then turned towards the door.

            "I'll walk you out," Sara said hurriedly.  Dom put his hand up to stop her.

            "I'm sure Mr. Henely can find his own way out," Grissom said, shuffling papers around on his desk, then looking back up at the two.  Sara shot him a look, and Dom turned his head slowly, giving an impassive stare.  Grissom looked at Sara, waiting to see what she would do.  She looked back at Dom, who was now looking towards the door.  He ran his hand through his hair, then looked back at Sara.

            "Yea—it's not that hard, I can find my way," he answered slowly.  Sara sighed.  Dom gave her a quick smile, then squeezed her arm.  "I'll call you later," he whispered.  She gave a slight nod, then watched him leave.  He quickly strode out the door, cell phone already at his ear.

            "He'll be fine Sara," Grissom said, offhandedly.  He had returned to the online chess game he had been playing before the interruption.  She kept staring through the plate glass window, watching the hallway.  Grissom looked up from the screen, and peered over his glasses.  "Sara?" He stopped moving the mouse around.  She turned quickly around.

            "What's wrong with you!?" she asked angrily, glaring at him.  He slowly closed the laptop.  "What—why—why couldn't you even be civil?" she was mad.  He leaned back in his chair, as if trying to get farther away from her.  She walked quickly over to his desk, and glared down at him.

            "Sara—I was civilized-"

            "No you weren't.  You didn't even listen to his idea.  God, Grissom, why didn't you even give him chance!?" she was pacing in front of his desk now.  He didn't answer right away.

            "I did listen to his 'idea'-"

            "No—you passed judgment on him when he walked through that door," she said darkly, vehemently pointing back towards the closed door.

            "Sara, why are you overreacting-"

            "What!!!?"  She couldn't believe him.  "You act like a prick, and you think I'm overreacting?!"  She was about to rip her hair out.  He frowned up at her.

            "Do I need to remind you, that I am your supervisor, and that-"

            "No, you don't," she said gruffly, not realizing what he was getting at.  She finally stopped pacing.  She stared angrily at him.  He gave her an apathetic look back.

            "Sara, think about what he was asking," he paused letting it sink in.  She didn't waiver.  "You know well as I do, that we can't have someone tagging along to a crime scene."  She thought about that for a moment.

            "All he has to do is observe, he wouldn't be in the way.  He just has to see how we collect evidence, and how we process it.  He wouldn't be in the way," she reiterated.  Grissom shook his head slightly.

            "How do you know we can trust him?"  That made her anger rise.  She scoffed.

"Do you even think about what you're going to say before you say it?!"  He sighed, rubbing his temples.

            "When was the last time you talked to this 'Dom'?" he tried again.  That made her pause.  "Don't you think that it's weird that he called you out of blue after so many years?"  She clenched her jaw.  "Sara?"  She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.  He looked at her, bracing himself.  She paused, restraining her anger.

            "Fine."  He was slightly taken aback.  He leaned farther back in his chair.

            "Fine?" he didn't know what to make of it.  His chair creaked.  She stood there a moment, staring straight at him, her gaze never wavering.  He was slightly unnerved, he had never seen her this mad.  She took a small step backwards.

            "Fine," she whispered bitterly.  She turned around, and strode towards the door.  He watched her go—he couldn move… he couldn't stop her from leaving.

            "Sara?" she was at the door.  She paused, as if trying not to turn around.  He watched her, beckoning with his eyes to make her turn around.  She shook her head, and pushed the door open, sniffling back tears.  "Sara?"  She ignored him, and walked out the door, never looking back at him.  "Sara!?" he yelled at her, still trying to get her attention.  She continued to walk down the hall, wiping her eyes, trying to mask her tears.

            She hurried her step, almost running.  She could barely see, with the tears and with the blinding anger seething from her.  

            Catherine entered the hall, just in time to see Sara exit Grissom's office. 

            "Back so soon?" she asked jokingly, not realizing that anything was wrong.  As Sara got closer, Cath's smile faded.  Something was definitely wrong.  She reached out to stop Sara from running past her.  "Sara?!  What's wrong honey?" she was concerned.  Sara wiped her eyes, and sniffled.  "Sara?" she asked quietly.  The younger CSI pushed against her, trying to get away.  

            "That-that-that man!" she stammered through her tears, pointing back towards Grissom's office.  "He's just—UGH," she said pushing Catherine away.  Catherine let her go, and watched her has she barged into the empty locker room.  She shook her head, and looked towards the other end of the hall.  She sighed.  This was going to be one helluva night.

· * * * * * *

I did a slight rewrite, cuz I though the other one was bad.  (I musta been mad at something that day…hmmm)

I'll try to get an update up soon… but no promises.  I'm not done with this fic, so there will be an update, unless I get a bunch of "NO's"  then I'll just stop.

Have a good day!


	4. I Don't Know

The Next Day (or whenever their shift starts again)  

            "Greg, have you seen Grissom?" Catherine asked, pausing by the lab.  The beleaguered lab tech looked up from his microscope.  He looked at her with a sleepy gaze.

            "No."  He returned to peering down the microscope.  Catherine sighed.

            "Well—do you know where he might be?" she prodded him.  He just shrugged, not looking up.  She rolled her eyes.  'Right' she thought to herself.  She mulled over interrogating Greg some more, but quickly decided against it.  He was busy enough as it was.

            "Thanks Greg," she called over her shoulder as she exited the tiny lab.

            "Anytime," he responded offhandedly, still looking down the microscope.  Catherine shook her head, and smiled to herself.  She checked the file she was holding, then tucked it under her arm, and continued on down the hallway.  

            She checked her watch—she was a little early.  Grissom was lurking around here somewhere; (it was doubted that he even went home), and the others had yet to arrive.  She wondered where Sara was…

            "Grissom!" he had just walked out of one of the computer labs ahead of her.  He looked up, slightly startled.

            "Catherine?" he closed the file he was holding.  She quickened her step to catch up with him.

            "Hi."     

            "Hi?-"

            "Whaddya got there?" she nodded towards the file he was clutching.  He quickly glanced down, then back at her.

            "Background information on our vic," he nodded down the hallway, signaling her to walk with him.  Catherine gave a slight nod— the file would give them a place to start… they had diddly squat without the DNA right now.

            "Any news?" she asked, looking at him. He didn't respond right away, he was staring down the hall.  "Grissom?"  

"Greg—of course not," he answered icily.  She sighed.  "Brass is notifying the family, and Sara is looking into the shoe, to see if we can get a lead off of that."  He stopped walking.  

"Is Sara here?"  He didn't reply.  She looked at him, concerned.  He blinked repeatedly, as if trying to discern that the image in front of him was real.  His grey eyes glistened.

            "What's he doing here."  He clenched his jaw.  Catherine looked from him, to down the hall.  She didn't see anybody—anybody out of the ordinary.

            "Who?"  She peered down the hallway, checking faces.  He didn't respond.   

* * * * 

"Sar- do you really think this is a good idea?"  Dom asked, accepting the Coke she handed him.  She smiled, as she closed the 'fridge.  Nobody was in the lounge at the moment—probably since there was no coffee. 

"You're here, aren't you?" She emptied and cleaned out the dirty coffeepot.  He rolled his eyes and took a swig of the soda.  He made a face.

"Do you got any Pepsi?" he asked, wiping his mouth.  Sara gave him an irritated look, as she put the pot back on.

"Like there's a difference," she chided him.   She turned the coffeemaker on, grabbed a water, and walked over to lean on the table next to him.

"Oh—there's plenty of difference.  Like calorie content, total carbohydrates, ingredients," he was counting them off on his fingers.  "Taste.  That's a big one.  One tastes better than the other," he remarked, waving his hands around.  Sara shook her head, smiling.  She batted away his hand.  There was a pause.

"Which one?" she asked, taking a sip of her water.  He glanced over at her.

"Which one what?"  She looked at him, like he was crazy.

"Which one?  Which one tastes better?"  She put her water down.  He still seemed confused.

"Oh. OH, _that.  Yea--," he looked away, as if to think.  She watched him, expecting a long winded answer.  He took a deep breath in, and looked at her.  "Yea—I don't know," he mumbled, shrugging in defeat.  He looked at his hands, smiling.  "Do you?"_

"Do I what?"  She knew full well what he was asking.  He looked at her, not repeating himself—he was waiting for an answer.  "I prefer water," she answered after a moment, taking a sip.  He scoffed.  She made a face at him.

            "What's wrong with water?" she asked indignantly. 

            "Oh nothing… I guess.  If you like that sort of thing."  She put it down on the table.

            "What do you mean by "that sort of thing"?" she goaded him.  He shrugged.

            "Nothing was meant by it."  She didn't believe him.  She sighed and stretched her arms out, but as she brought them back, she knocked over her open water bottle.  The water spilled onto the table, causing a giant puddle.  She leaped off the table quickly.

            "Sorry! Did you get wet?  Sorry.  Paper towels… paper towels… where are the paper towels?!" she hopped quickly over to the sink, and grabbed a dishtowel.  Dom stood up quickly, without saying a word.  She ran back over, and started mopping up her spill.  Dom watched her, his gaze shifting up and down…

            "Did any get on you?" she was frantically trying to wipe up her spill.  He took a step back.

            "Nah… its just water.  I'll be ok," he answered slowly.  She continued to mop up.  He started to play with his watch… he didn't need to be caught staring.

            "Dom?"  She was calling him.  He looked up.  She was looking at him.

            "Yeah?"

            "Can you toss this in the sink over there, and get a paper towel?"  She handed him the soaking rag.

            "Sure."  He walked over to the sink and threw the towel down.  "How much water did you spill?" he was patronizing her.

            "I just wanna make sure it's dry."  He gave her a smirk, and then tugged at the paper towels.  All he got was a tiny section.  He sighed.  

            "By the time you get over here, it'll have already evaporated," she mocked.  He laughed.

            "Fine, fine," he was finally able to get a big enough piece.  He ambled over.  "Here."  He held it out for her.  She went to grab it, and he pulled back.  She sighed, dropping her arm.  He saw the look on her face, and relented.  She took the towels, and proceeded to wipe the table dry.

            He tried not to look this time—so he concentrated on the clock across the room.  He squinted—he could almost see the minute hand move…

            "Dom?"  He looked down at her.  She had stopped cleaning.  "How'd you find my number?"  'What the hell.  Where'd that come from?' he silently screamed.

            "I—uh—have connections," he responded.  He seemed to get nervous, he was looking around the room quickly—Sara watched him do this… she was slightly suspicious now.  

            "Uh-huh," she was crumpling up the damp towels in her hand.  She paused.  "So why are you really here?"  He paused.

            "That's what I'd like to know."  They both quickly looked at the doorway.  Sara squeezed her fist together hard.

            "Grissom…hey," she tried not to panic.  He didn't even acknowledge her.  Dom moved over next to Sara, Grissom continued to glare.  If looks could kill…

There was a tense moment of silence.  Catherine finally emerged from behind Grissom, looking at Dom, then back at Sara.  Dom looked nervously from Grissom to Sara; Grissom to Catherine.  He swallowed uneasily.

            "I-a-I don't think we've met," he was finally able to say to Catherine.

            "No… we haven't," Cath replied, still not sure she wanted to be there.

            "O-ah-Catherine Willows, meet Dominic Henley, an old friend from school," Sara introduced the two without getting up.  Dom extended his hand.  Cath shook it, without hesitation.

            "My friends call me Dom," he said warmly, trying to forget that Grissom was there.

            "Huh—what do your enemies call you?" Grissom asked coldly.  Dom leaned away from him.

            "I-a-wouldn't know.  Sir."  He coughed, as he sat down next to Sara.  Grissom looked at Catherine, she just shrugged.  He paused.

            "Why are you here.  Again."  He asked accusingly.  Dom looked straight at him, taking his time.

            "We weren't done."  Grissom scowled.  He gripped the folder he was holding.  He reverted his attention to the younger CSI.

            "You," he pointed at Sara. "With me."  A look of confusion flashed across her face, but then it was replaced with an innocent look.   She looked at Dom; he patted her knee, as in reassurance for himself.  Grissom grit his teeth, eyeing the younger man.

Sara didn't say anything; she just shook her head.  When she finally stood up slowly, she adjusted herself, and then walked out the door after Grissom.  

            Catherine and Dom watched them go, as they quickly walked out of sight.  Dom sighed and put his face in his hands.  He looked up after a couple moments; Catherine was now over by the counter pouring herself a cup of coffee.  She turned around.

            "Sooo—who are you?"

* * * * * * 


	5. What?

"Sit down," he motioned to the chair, as he made his way around to the other side of the desk.

            "Thanks.  I'll stand," she answered coolly.  He tossed the file on his desk, and looked over at her.

            "Sara."  She glared at him.  "Sit.  Now."  He pointed to the chair again.  She looked down at it, then back up at him.  He raised his eyebrows, waiting.  She remained standing; defying him.  He sighed.  "Sara-."  He tossed his glasses on his desk, and rubbed his eyes.  He was trying to restrain himself, trying not to lose his cool—but she was pushing him.

            When he opened his eyes again, she had finally sat down.  He let out a breath of relief.  

            "What do you want Grissom." She was looking around, trying not to look at him.  He walked around to the front of his desk, and leaned against it.  She sat back, watching him.

            "You know why you're here," he ignored her statement, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  He looked at her, his expression dour.

            "No—I don't know why I'm here.  Care to tell me."  She threw back at him.  He clenched his jaw, holding back a rebuttal.  He slowly let out a breath.

            "You know why-"

            "No, I d-"

            "Why is he here!?" he snapped.  She stared at him, mouth open in amazement.  She shook her head in disbelief.

            "_He, has a name."  _

            "Why is he back here Sara?" he was ignoring her. 

            "Jesus Christ Grissom!" She pushed herself up out of her chair.  "He has a name!" She was now standing toe to toe with him.  "Why are you acting like this?—Again?" she was frustrated.  Grissom didn't move.

            "Answer my question Sa-"

            "Answer mine!" she exclaimed, walking away from him.  She mumbled something inaudible under her breath.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose—this wasn't going like he planned.  He dropped his arms down by his side, and gripped the desk.

She was pacing now, back and forth, looking up at the ceiling, arms crossed, eyes blinking rapidly.

"Sara."  She ignored him—continuing to pace.  "Sara."  Again no response.  He had had enough of this.  "Sara!  Godammit listen to me!!" he slammed his hand down on his desk.  That caught her attention.  She stopped walking, and looked at him.  

"Why should I?" she asked after a moment, eyes narrowing.  He sighed, shaking his head.  "Cuz you obviously haven't been listening to Dom, and you don't seem to be listening to me," she accused him.  He paused, trying to come up with an answer.

"I did listen to your friend 'Dom', and I am li-"

"Bullshit!  You didn't even-"

"Don't interrupt me again Ms. Sidle," he warned.  She looked at him incredulously, jaw dropped.  She couldn't believe this man, couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Fine.  Grissom.  Fine, have-have it your way," she threw her hands up in disgust, turning towards the door—threatening to leave.

"Sara; come back here," he demanded.  She leaned against the door, resting her head against the plate glass.  "We aren't finished.  Don't you dare walk out that door again."  She didn't move.  He took a deep breath, and counted to 5.  No one said anything for a few moments. 

"Why do you have such a problem with him?"  She didn't turn around.

"What?"  She looked back, then turned around to face him.

"Why do you have such a problem with him?"  She walked closer.  He hadn't expected that question.  He shifted uneasily.

"I don't have a pr-"

"Yes you do-" she was standing right in front of him now.  "When he first walked through that door you had a problem with him.  And you hadn't even met him yet!"  She stared intently at him.  He didn't answer right away, he just let out a heavy sigh.

"Don't you find it weird for him to call you after all these years?" he was avoiding the question.  She looked at him—she knew what he was doing; and even though she was angry—that made her smile.  

"Answer my question," she replied

"Answer mine."  She looked at him—trying to read his emotions.  He folded his arms across he chest again, defensively.  She looked away as she thought about it for a moment. 

"Does it matter?" she answered vaguely.  That aggravated him.

"Does it mat—Of course it matters!  You don't know where he's been, what he's been doing all this time—doesn't that concern you?"  She didn't say anything for a few seconds.  The clocks ticked in the background.

"No," she finally spoke, shrugging.  This bothered him.

"No?"  he asked incredulously.  "Are you that trusting—that you would allow someone back in your life; someone whom you haven't spoken to in months—even years?"  She looked away, then back at him, making eye contact.  She paused.

"If it didn't matter before—why should it matter now?"   

* * * * * * * 

"Coffee?" Catherine offered.  Dom smiled, shaking his head.

"I'm all set," he said, holding up his drink, and then taking a gulp of it.  She

looked over at what he was holding.

            "Pepsi's better," she remarked, grabbing her coffee.  He almost choked.

            "If you say so," he said, shaking his head.  She gave him an odd look.  He grinned at her.  She gave a hesitant smile back.

            "So who are you—really?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.  She leaned against the counter; watching him.  He sighed.

            "Dominic Henley—but you can call me Dom," he answered, smiling.  

            "Riiight—cuz that's what your friends call you," she answered sarcastically.  His smile faded.  She took another sip, eyeing him over the lip of the mug.  He looked down at his hands, and then back up at her.

            "Yea—and you're Catherine?" he asked, looking for an answer.  She nodded.  "Ok," he didn't seem to know what to say, she made him a little nervous.  They were quiet for a few moments. 

            "So how do you know Sara?"  she finally asked.

            "Huh?" he had spaced out for a second.

            "How do you know Sara?" she repeated herself, setting her mug down on the counter.  He ran his hand through his hair, and leaned back.

            "We a—went to college together," he answered, glancing at her.  "At least for a little bit anyways," he said with a laugh, looking around the room.  She gave a slight smile.  "Yea—I-a-knew her for a couple months before I left."  He rubbed the back of his neck, staring straight ahead of him.  Cath nodded.

            "A couple of months huh—musta made a good impression to be remembered after all these years," she answered slyly.  

            "Yea-I guess…good times, good times," he nodded in agreement, looking down at the floor.  Cath gave an amused look, but didn't say anything.  "Wait-" his head snapped up.  "If you think—Nooo—it never—no—we—never—no that-that never happened," he stammered, his words coming out in a choked pattern.  "We-we were in the same physics class."

            "Riiight," she answered, nodding as if she understood.  She paused.  "So therefore you feel inclined to talk to her so many years later—because you were in _one physics class together," she responded scathingly.  He thought about that for a moment._

"I guess so—Yea," he answered, with a grin.  She rolled her eyes.  He laughed.

"There's got to be more to it than _that," she pushed, walking closer to him.  He shrugged, still grinning._

            "She helped me with physics—and I—I helped her get out more…experience new things," he answered, shrugging again.  He looked at the wall, then at Cath.  

            "I'm sure you did," her eyebrows raised.  He shook his head, still smiling.

            "You don't give up do you?"  he asked, looking over at her.  She shrugged back.

            "Comes with the job, I guess," she answered, turning around.  He accepted that.  She walked back to the counter, and picked up her mug.  

            "So why'd you leave?" she asked, turning back around.  He stared at the wall.  He paused.

            "That usually doesn't come up until at _least the second date," he joked, not looking at her.  She chuckled._

            "I move quick,"  She took a sip of her coffee, he was eyeing her warily.

            "Apparently." 

            "So?" she wanted an answer.  He clasped his hands together, then looked back over to her.

            "Who says I just didn't graduate?" he posed, raising his eyebrows.  She mulled over that idea for a few moments.

            "Come on, really, why'd you leave?"  His jaw dropped in bewilderment. 

            "That hurts," he looked away, eyes closed.  "That really hurts."

            "Oh—?," she apologized lamely.  He didn't respond.  "Dom?"  she walked closer to him.  He looked down at the ground, then back up at her.  He had a smile on his face.  

            "Yea—Who am I kidding?—I didn't graduate," he said grinning.  She made a face.  "What?  You actually believed me?!" he was amused now. 

"Maybe I went into the wrong profession."

            "Now I can see why he doesn't like you," she mumbled, walking away.  He slowly regained his composure.  

            "What?"

            "So what do you do now?" she ignored his question, and sat down at a table.  "Since you didn't finish school."

            "I work out in Hollywood," he answered, grabbing his briefcase.  She gave him an amazed look.

            "Wow.  Hollywood.  You gave up Harvard for that…impressive," she remarked, smirking.  

            "Ouch," he said dramatically. He sat down across from her, tossing his briefcase down heavily. "I guess I deserved that though," he sighed.  She nodded.

            "So why'd you leave?" she tried again.  He looked at her.

            "Basically—I realized—college—was not for me," he answered, staring at her.  She stared back, but then broke up in laughter.  He slowly broke into a smile.  "Don't believe that either?"  She shook her head.  "God—it takes a lot to please you," he remarked opening up his briefcase.  She shook her head.

            "No, not a lot." she smiled.  He rolled his eyes.  

            "Yea—I'm sure," he replied, opening up his briefcase.  

            "So why'd you leave?"  she did not give up.  He sighed.

            "Told you, it wasn't for me."

            "Just tell me."

            "No."

            "C'mon."

            "Nope.  No.  I'm not telling," he remained firm.  She looked at him.

            "Can't say?  Won't say?"  he didn't answer.  "Just a little hint?"  He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the papers inside his briefcase.

            "How bad was it then?" she _was curious.  He didn't say anything, his eyes still down.  She stared at him, trying to get him to look up.  It didn't work.  She sighed.  "Fine—I'll ask little Ms. Sara then," she said teasing him.  He shrugged._

            "Go ahead—I'll doubt she'll know."  

* * * * * * 


	6. So many questions But not so many answe...

* * * * * * *

            "Ok fine.  So what do you do out in Hollywood?" she had finally given up.  He apparently had not heard her; he was too busy reading a piece of paper in front of him.  He looked up to find her staring at him.

            "Pardon?"

            "Well; you obviously aren't a reporter," she said dryly.  He seemed taken aback.

            "And why not?"  She didn't answer; she took a sip of her coffee instead.  He returned to reading the sheet in front of him.

            "Actor?  Producer?" she was watching him, trying to get a response.  He looked up, he seemed confused at best.  "Screenwriter?"  Nothing.  She sighed.

            "No, not quite—and definitely not," he finally answered, tossing the paper back in his briefcase.  "Those guys work so hard—and make so little money."  He leaned back in his chair, stretching.

            "So?" she seemed irritated now.  He leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the table top.

            "I'm a research analyst for a production company."  She mulled over that for a few moments.

            "A research analyst huh—what does that do?" she finally asked, putting her mug down. 

            He smiled.

            "Research."

* * * * * * *

            Grissom remained quiet; not knowing what to say.  Sara watched him, waiting for a response, but none came.  He seemed to be looking down, seeing nothing.  The clocks continued to tick.  She inhaled deeply, trying to keep her heartbeat steady; for at that moment, she could hear it in her ears.  She turned around, looking out the door, into the hallway, with her hands in her back pockets.  She closed her eyes.

            "That—was different." He finally spoke.  She opened her eyes slowly, regaining focus.  She turned around, hands still in her pockets.  She didn't say anything for a moment.

            "How so?" she asked quietly.  He reached down and gripped the desk.  She took a step forward.  "Grissom—how was that different?" she was cornering him.  He sighed, massaging his forehead.

            "I-I-I don't know," he answered softly, looking at the floor again.  She bit her lip, holding back a response.  

* * * * * * * *

            "_Really." She glared at him.  He smiled back.  "Smartass."  He laughed.            _

            "Ok ok.  See basically how it works is that somebody has an idea for a show," he started to explain.  She nodded.  "And so—they pitch it to some Hollywood exec's." He paused, taking a breath.  "And if these exec's like the idea, they hire a whole buncha people to make it happen," he leaned back in his chair.  "Like everyone involved in the preproduction phase—screenwriters, proofers, you name it," he counted them off on his fingers.   

            "So where do you come in?" she interrupted.  He grinned.

            "Hold on hold on, I was just getting to that," he really didn't like being interrupted, but he didn't show it.  "Now before they can actually get the story rollin', they have to know what they're talkin' about," he continued.  "So that's where I come in," he motioned towards himself.  "They give me a few 'sketchy' details, and tell me to run with it—to find out anything and everything I can."  He paused.

            "So what do you do?"

            "Well—I run of course," he grinned.  She opened her mouth to retort, but he continued; he was on a roll now.  "Make a few phone calls, get people where they need to be, make sure everything is taken care of, make sure that _I'm taken care of," he emphasized.  "And then—I let 'em go."  He stopped._

            "And that's it?" she was searching.

            "Well that's the condensed version—but yea—basically that's what I do," he leaned back in his chair, stretching again.  "I mean we actually do work, like take notes 'n stuff, but yea—that's mostly what we do."  He leaned forward on the table, hands clasped.  She thought about that for a couple of moments.

            "How—uninteresting," she remarked, giving an evil grin back at him.  He seemed to be caught off guard by that response.  She smiled at him as she walked over to the counter.

"So why are _you here then?" she asked, her back still turned.  He didn't respond right away, he was to busy staring.  She looked back, and upon seeing his expression, shook her head.  'Men,' she thought to herself.  "Dom?"  She turned completely around to face him.  He blinked several times._

            "O-a-um-yea-ok-sorry," he mumbled sheepishly, looking down at the table.  She smirked.

            "It's ok.  So why are you here?" she chose to ignore his crude behavior.  That seemed to surprise him.

            "Well-a-um-I'm here because it seems that-um somebody wants to produce a show based on-a-crime scene investigation," he answered, tentatively.  She paused.

            "For what?  Like Court TV?" she asked, turning back around.  He didn't stare this time, choosing instead to look at the refrigerator.

            "Nope—that's a whole nuther ball game," he answered.  She glanced back to see if he would explain.  "They have their own 'personnel' for those shows," he stated simply, shrugging.  

She seemed satisfied with that answer as she put her mug back up on the shelf. She wiped her hands clean then headed back towards the table.  She didn't sit down though.  He was still looking at the fridge.

"Hey," she tried getting his attention.  "You can look at me ya know."  He glanced up at her, giving a sheepish grin.  "Just don't stare."  

* * * * * * * * 

            Her heartbeat hadn't slowed a bit.  The incessant pounding in her ears was driving her crazy—or maybe it was just the man standing in front of her.  She felt faint.  She quietly walked over and quickly slid into a chair positioned across from him.  He was still avoiding her eyes.

            "I think you do know," she spoke softly, looking for a response.  He didn't say anything for a few moments.  

            "Sara—I-" he was speaking to the ground.

            "Grissom; look at me."  He didn't respond.  After a moment, he slowly looked up, his face set in a cold hard blank look.  However his eyes—his eyes deceived him.  As inexpressive as his face was, his eyes told the story.  She had never seen that look before—had never noticed the innocence; the fragility—she had never seen him afraid.


	7. Avoid

* * * * * *

He blinked.  The world was still out of focus.  

            "Sara—the reason I-"

A cell phone went off.  Neither of them moved.  She continued to stare at him, waiting to see what he would do.  He didn't move.  The cell phone continued to ring.  She sighed.

            "You should probably answer that."  He nodded, the muscles around his jaw relaxed.  He inhaled deeply.

            "Ye-a."  He reached down and pulled the phone out of its clip.  She looked away, biting her nail.  She _had started to relax—then that damn phone rang.  She closed her eyes in frustration; clamping down on her already stubbed finger nail.  She was this close—this close to getting an answer out of him._

            "Grissom." He answered slowly, still looking at her.  She avoided his gaze; instead, choosing rather to look at the far wall.  "Uh-huh, Saturday.   That's right," he stood up and walked behind his desk and sat down.  She switched nails.  "Yea-Yes that'll be fine," he paused.  "No-it's fine," he sounded irritated.  "Yea-ok.  I'll be there—bye," he hung up and tossed the phone on his desk.  She still didn't look at him.  He didn't say anything for a few moments.

            "Who was that?" she finally asked, turning to look at him.  He leaned back in his chair.  He paused.

            "Do you know why I asked you to come here—here to Vegas?" he asked, hands clasped in front of him.  She seemed confused by the sudden change in topic, but she quickly recovered. 

            "Because…"

            "You were the smartest, you were the brightest.  You came highly recommended.  I thought you were the best person for the team."  She didn't respond right away—leaving a moment to see if he would continue.  He did not.  She sighed angrily.  She rubbed the bridge of her nose.  She took a moment before answering; she had to calm herself down.

            "For the team huh—I've heard this all before," she answered firmly.  He sighed.  She stood up, and straightened herself out.

            "Sara—what more do you want?" he was getting slightly irritated now.  She became quiet.  "I don't know what explanation I can give y-"

            "Why me, Grissom?" he twitched.  "Why me?"

            "I've already told you the answer to tha-"

            "Yea—I was the smartest; the best—whatever.  Why _me?"  He didn't seem to be getting the point.  She gripped the back of the chair._

            "Why you." He pursed his lips together.

            "Yes.  Why me?  Out of everybody that you know, everybody you've been associated with—why me?"  She glared at him.  He shifted uneasily, pausing.

            "You came highly recomen-"

            "Ugh," she was aggravated now.  She turned to face the doorway again.  He tapped his fingers on the desk.

            "I think perhaps that you're forgetting the point of this discus-"  She threw her hands up in disgust, turning quickly around.

            "What!?!  Why are you changing the subj-"

            "It needs to be addressed," he said slowly.  She closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief.

            "Forget about Dom.  Grissom, why can't you answer my question!?"  She was glowering.  He thought about that for a moment.

            "Are you questioning my judgment?"

            "What?!" he was confusing her.  "Do you realize that you are not making _any sense whatsoever?"  He raised an eyebrow._

            "We came in here—to discuss this situation with your friend 'Dom'," he said matter-of-factly.  She silently screamed.

            "First of all—there is no situation with 'Dom', and second of all-"

            "I think there is," he answered leaning forward.

            "What—No!  Grissom, we were talking about me, ok?!  ME," she pointed to herself.  "Not Dom, not the case, ME."  He seemed surprised at her boldness.  "Why did you choose _me?"  He took a deep breath in.  She ran her hand through her hair—this conversation wasn't getting her anywhere._

            "I chose you because you _did come highly recommended," he said quietly. "I chose you—because—I trusted; trust you," she didn't reply, but her hand fell down by her side.  "I chose you—because out of all the people I've met; I've remembered you the most," he was looking at her now.  "I chose you—because I wanted too." _

* * * * * * * 

            "I wonder what's taking them so long," Dom thought aloud, checking his watch. He drummed his fingers on the table top.

            "Grissom and Sara?  Who knows," Cath replied reading a magazine.  She looked up.  

"Why?  Gotta hot date?"  

He laughed.

            "Sure _why not."  He was patronizing her.  _

She smirked.  

Silence.

            "Yea so you and Sara…ya know… Ever—?"  Dom gave her a wide eyed look.

            "Have we ever?!," he shook his head in disbelief.  "You should be ashamed of yourself," he replied indignantly but he was trying to hold back a smile.  He leaned on the table.  She looked expectantly at him.  He gave a questioning stare back.

            "So?"

            "A gentleman never tells."  She laughed

            "So what's your excuse?"   He found that funny.

            "Good one; good one.  Yea—no we were just friends," he replied yawning.  She looked at him.

            "Am I boring you?"

            "No not at all," he shook his head.  "I'm a-just tired.  Long night," he yawned again, this time stretching.

            "Yea I hear ya," she made a face.  "Where'd you stay?"  He paused before answering.

            "I don't remember the name."

            "Uh-huh."  She gave him a wary eye.  

            He made a face.

            "What?!"

            She shrugged.  Remaining silent. 

            He stared at her.

            Silence.

            "Sara's."  He mumbled.

She rolled her eyes.

            "Just friends huh."  

            "_Yes—just friends.  Nothing happened." He was getting defensive.  "I just needed a place to stay," he explained._

            "Why not a hotel?"

            "Why ask so many questions?"

            "Start answering some of them and I won't ask so many," she shot back.  

He sighed.

            "Why stay at a hotel when you can have a free place?"  She thought about that for a moment.

            "I thought you made a lot of money anyways, what's a few bucks for a nice room?"  

He shook his head.

            "A few bucks huh?  You don't stay rich by spending every penny you've got.  You have to know how to take care of your cash, how to keep it, and how to spend it wisely," he explained.  "Like me.  Why waste thousands of dollars on a hotel suite, when you can room for free?"

            "Why waste thousands of dollars on a suite when you can pay regular price for a regular room?" she retorted.  

            "Bah—don't even bother then.  It's not worth it," he took a drink of his Coke.  She was silent for a few minutes.

            "So just friends huh?" he rolled his eyes. 

            "_Yes—just friends.  Haven't we already established that?"_

            "So there was never anything going on between you two?"  she put her magazine down, she wasn't reading it.  He shook his head.

            "Nope.  Nada.  Nothing.  Ever," he picked up the magazine she tossed away.  She looked around the room.  He flipped a page.  They were silent, him reading, her trying to look preoccupied.  He sighed.

"That's not to say I wish it didn't though."

Bah—more backstory on Dom…

Hope you like it

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Haha… have a good day!


	8. A History Lesson of sorts

She blinked rapidly.  She didn't know whether to sit down or remain standing—She didn't know if she could even remain standing.  

            "Because you wanted too," she echoed quietly, sitting back down in the chair.  She had a blank look on her face; she was too stunned to say anything more.  He slowly leaned forward on to his desk and watched her curiously.

            "Now would you mind telling me who Dom is?"  She continued to stare at him, blinking slowly.  No response.  "Sara?" he tried again.  Her brow furrowed.  'He really could ruin a moment', she thought bitterly.  She sighed. 

            "He's an old friend.  How are you able to do that?" she asked disapprovingly.  He seemed slightly confused by her question.

            "Do what?"  

            "Change conversations like that.  How are you able to do it," she was annoyed again.  He gave a slight shrug, and leaned back in his chair.  She stared at him.

            "It's a gift," he deadpanned.  She scoffed.  "Now, care to tell me about Dom?"  She shook her head in disbelief.

            "I don't get you," she said, not looking at him.  He didn't say anything.  She sighed, looking up at him.  "Fine.  Never mind.  I give up," she threw her hands up in disgust.  "I give up," she repeated softly, picking some fuzz off of her pants.  

            "How long have you known him?"  She looked at him.  He was staring intently at her.  She shrugged.

            "I met him freshmen year—we were in the same class together."  He paused.

            "What classes?"  She shrugged again.

            "Physics.  He was in my economics class for a little bit—but he didn't stay."  She avoided eye contact.

            "Any more after that?"

            "Does it matter?"

            "Sara," he warned.  She didn't say anything for a few moments.

            "Fine.  No, we were only in Physics 211 together for the first semester of my freshmen year.  He needed help; and I helped him—we became friends through that," she replied irritated.  "Why does this all matter again?"

            "I just want to know who we're dealing with—that's all," he was trying to reassure her.  She rolled her eyes again.

            "Grissom—look.  Dom and I met freshmen year.  After he left; we kept in touch.  Even after grad school."

            "But I thought you hadn't spoken to him in awhile," he pointed out.

            "Well…yea.  We lost touch after I moved out to San Francisco."  He paused.

            "But you were both on the West Coast-"

            "Right—but I didn't know that.  The last time I spoke to him, he was in New York.  I didn't find out he lived out in California til last night."  His eyes narrowed.

            "And this doesn't bother you?"

            "You've already asked me that," she replied coldly.  He sighed, massaging his forehead. 

            "How did he find you?"  he asked, after a moment.

            "It's not that hard—he has connections."  She shrugged.  He didn't seem to like that answer.  "You found me," she pointed out.  He gave her a look.

            "Well—yes—but that was-"

            "Different.  _Right," she answered for him.  "I know."  They both became silent._

            "Look—Grissom.  I know you don't like him—but can you at least listen to him?"  He didn't respond.  "At least give him a chance."  She stood up, and looked around the room before she slowly walked towards the door.

            "OK," he replied quietly.  She turned around.

            "What was that?"

            "I said—Ok," he repeated, sounding strained.  She smiled.

            "Great," she said, finally sounding happy.  He sighed, then slowly stood up out of his chair, and grabbed his glasses.  She leaned against the door, waiting for him.

            "Great," he said to himself, as he picked up a file off of his desk.  He glanced up, she was waiting against the door, but she was watching the traffic in the hallway.  He slowly walked towards her.

            "What've you got lose?" she asked as they exited his office.  He didn't respond.  She quickened her step as they neared the lounge.  He sighed.

            "Everything."

* * * * * * * * 

            "Ha—so there is something going on," Cath deduced.  Dom didn't say anything, he was trying to concentrate on the magazine.  Cath smiled to herself, as she stood up from the table.  

"It's ok," she said while heading over to the 'fridge.  She opened it up and peered inside.  Upon finding nothing to her liking, she grabbed a water. 

 "Just as long as Grissom doesn't find out." 

            "As long as I don't find out about what?" 

Catherine inhaled sharply.  Grissom was standing right on the other side of the door.

            "Jesus Gil, don't scare me like that," she scolded him, while opening up her water.  He gave her a bemused look.  

            "What am I not supposed to find out Catherine?" he repeated.  She shrugged, taking a sip of her water.  He continued to stare at her.  However, she avoided his gaze and looked over at Dom.  He apparently had not noticed that Grissom was back, or he was ignoring him.  He didn't even look up when Sara sat down across from him.  Grissom followed Cath's gaze to the table—his eyes hardening into an impassive stare.

 * * * *

            "Hey," she greeted him, taking a seat across from him.  He glanced up at her.

            "O hey," he answered, slowly closing the magazine.  He didn't say any more.

            "You ok?" she seemed slightly concerned.

            "Yea—why?"  He yawned.  She shrugged.

            "O, I dunno.  You're quiet.  That's not like you," she said giving a slight smile.  He gave a tired smile back.

            "Yea well ya know—long night," he replied humorously, leaning back in his chair.  She rolled her eyes.  

"Was Catherine nice to you?"  He shrugged.

"She was very—what's the word….nosy."  He leaned forward, hands clasped.  "Are you ok?"  She rubbed her eyes.

            "Yea-yea I'm fine," she answered.  It didn't sound convincing.  He eyed her carefully.

            "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, reaching over; placing his hand on top of hers.  She nodded, still rubbing her eye.  He seemed intent on watching her—he didn't even hear Grissom come up behind him.

            "So, _Dom, we meet again," Grissom interrupted, taking a seat next to the younger man.  Dom quickly took his hand away.  Sara didn't move.  _

            "I guess we do—Sir," he still didn't look at Grissom.

            "And you're here because…?"  Dom sighed.

            "Because we didn't finish what we had started yesterday," he answered slowly, turning to face Grissom, who was now giving a grin like the Cheshire Cat.  Dom, being slightly unnerved, leaned away.  Catherine walked by and patted Dom on his shoulder.

            "It's ok," she mouthed silently, before taking a seat across from Grissom.  Dom looked at all three of them.  Having the three of them stare back at him unnerved him even more.

            "Ah—I feel claustrophobic now.  I need to stand up," he said quickly, hopping out of his seat.  Nobody said a word.  He hastily straightened himself out, and looked at all three of them again.

            "So Dom—why'd you leave school?" it was Catherine again.  He sighed.

            "Didn't we already go through this?"

            "You left school?" Grissom interjected, he was not pleased with this news.  

            "Yea—Sara didn't tell you?"

            "No," he answered, staring at her.  She shrugged.

            "It didn't come up," was all she said. 

Cath sighed.

            "Why'd you leave?" Grissom returned to Dom.

            "It—wasn't for me," he replied, not looking at him, he was busy sorting papers in his briefcase.

            "Why _did you leave?" Sara asked.  The two older CSI's looked over at her—'What?' she mouthed wordlessly_

            "I left, because—basically; they didn't want me to come back," Dom explained.  They all looked at him, quiet for a moment.

            "You got kicked out?" Sara remarked, amused.  Catherine looked slightly surprised, and Grissom looked—well; like Grissom.  Dom didn't answer right away.

            "I guess you could say that," he coughed, not paying attention to their stares.

            "What for?" Sara was watching him intently.

            "Well—basically I did some stuff and I-"

            "You got caught," Grissom smirked.  Dom looked over at him.

            "Obviously," he answered without hesitation.  Grissom frowned.

            "Ok—so Dom," Catherine was trying to get his attention.  "What'd you do?"  The three looked expectantly at him.  It made him a little nervous.

            "I—a—um," he turned his gaze to Sara.  "Do you remember that incident in the Hollis Building?"  She thought about it for a moment.  "Ya know—the one with the-"  Her eyes went wide.

            "That was you?!"  Grissom and Catherine looked confused.  "With the cats?  And the—You did that?"  Her jaw dropped in disbelief.  Dom leaned against the table; grinning.  "That was really you?"  He laughed.

            "No."


	9. Hollywood 101

            Sara made a face.  "But I can tell you who did it," he finished, smiling broadly.  The three weren't amused.  His smile faded.  "Right—tough crowd," he murmured. 

            "So?" Sara still wanted her answer.  Dom raised an eyebrow.

            "D'you know you ask too many questions?"

            "That's her job," Grissom pointed out firmly.  Dom closed his eyes, calming himself.

            "And my job is to observe and take notes—not to delve into my personal life," he responded slowly, looking down at the table.  Grissom glared at him.  "But if you like—there will be a question and answer session at the end of this program, so feel free to write down any, and all, inquiries you may have—and I shall do my best to answer them," he finished, condescendingly; there was a glint in his eye.  The three remained quiet.

            "Right—so without further interruption, I would like to begin," he cleared his throat.  "You—me—_We are all very busy people—I know—so I will get this over as quick as I can," he told them, picking up a stack of papers.  Just then, the door to the lounge opened._

            "I don't know man; somethin' doesn't seem right," Nick Stokes commented, walking through the door.  He seemed slightly surprised that there were already four people in there—but that didn't stop him from continuing on to the coffeemaker. 

            "Yea I know," Warrick Brown commented, entering the already crowded lounge.  "What's goin' on in he-a?" he asked upon seeing the other three at the table.

            Dom leaned towards Sara.

            "Who are they?" he asked quite audibly.  She pointed to Nick.

            "That's—"

            "Nick Stokes," Nick called over his shoulder. He grabbed his mug, and then quickly headed over to the table.  He set his mug down, and extended his hand towards Dom.  Dom shook it.

            "Dominic Henley," he answered.  "But call me Dom.  Here take a seat."  Nick nodded, and sat down at the table.  "And you are?" Dom asked Warrick, who was still standing in the doorway.

            "Warrick Brown," he answered, walking slowly towards Dom, giving him a suspicious look.  

            "OK, Warrick.  I'm Dom, nice to meet you," he shook his hand.  "If you could just take a seat."

            "Yea," he murmured back, still eyeing him warily.  Dom didn't seem to notice, or he didn't care. He returned to the head of the table.          

            "Ok," he said, clapping his hands together, and looking up at the group before him.  "Is this everybody?"  They all looked at each other.

            "Sure," Nick finally answered, smiling.  Dom gave a slight shrug.

            "Good enough.  Ok—I guess I can begin then," he was more or less talking to himself now.  "Right."  Grissom checked his watch and sighed loudly.  

            "Ok, first off," he motioned towards himself.  "My name is Dominic Henley—for those of you who have forgotten already-"

"How could we."  He ignored that statement.

"And I am a research analyst for a production company out in Hollywood, California."  Both Nick and Warrick were slightly surprised by this news.  Nick raised his hand.  Dom acknowledge him—but continued on his way.

            "You may be wondering as to why I am here-" he paused, fingering the stack of papers in front of him.

            "Actually—" 

            "I am here," Dom wasn't about to allow Grissom to finish.  "Because it seems that somebody has come up with an idea;" he leaned on the table.  "An idea to create a television show—a show—that would be based around crime scene investigation."  He looked around, letting that sink in.  Sara was looking back down at the table; Grissom looked nonplussed; Catherine was watching Grissom, and Nick and Warrick looked confused—at best.  

            Nick raised his hand again.  Dom motioned for him to put it down.

            "I am not talking about those 'Court TV' type shows—where it's all science and whatnot," he explained, waving his hands around.  Grissom mumbled something inaudible, but Dom ignored him.  "What I am talking about—is a primetime cable network show," he said dramatically.  "A show—that would basically be like no other—It would be less of a whodunit, then a howdunit." He smiled at his own ingenuity.  'That was good', he thought happily.  

However the group looked—stunned?  Nick raised his hand again.  Dom sighed.

"Ok; picture this," he motioned with his hands.  "Within the first few moments the plot would be set in motion; i.e. you see the crime happen; or a body would be found—ok?" he looked for conformation.  At least Sara gave a slight nod.  "Then the rest of the hour or so would be devoted to the task of solving 'said crime'," he paused.  This time; Catherine raised her hand.  Dom glanced at her, dropping his hands down.

"Yes?"

"How come she got called on?!" Nick asked indignantly.  Dom shrugged.

"Ladies first?"  Nick didn't seem to like that answer; but he left it alone.

"Yea Nick, maybe you'll learn something from him," Cath remarked.  Nick made a face, but chose not to rebut.  Dom gave a weak smile. 

            "Ok yea anyways, how is that possible?"

            "How is what possible?"

            "Say…solving a murder in an hour," Dom smiled and shook his head.  "How is that possible?"

            "Catherine; you disappoint me," he put his hand over his heart.  Both Nick and Warrick found it amusing.  "That's what TV's for.  It would give you a condensed version; a slim-ed down account of the real thing.  Think Law&Order."

            "So a misleading interpretation."  Dom sighed, looking at Grissom.  The older man leaned back in his chair, waiting for his answer.  Dom paused, tapping his chest, looking for the right words.

            "Some things would be—embellished; yes," Grissom raised an eyebrow.  "But it would never stray far from the truth."

            "How would this be different than Law&Order?" Sara jumped in.  Grissom wasn't too pleased with the interruption.  Dom hastily looked over at her.

            "Ah—see—Law&Order deals with the 'Law', the police officers; and the 'Order' the district attorneys that prosecute—hence the name," he said with a devilish smile.  Sara didn't look amused.  He quickly continued.  "But see; this new idea; this new show; it would deal with the forensics process.  It would show how the evidence left at a scene, is collected, processed and analyzed—and how it leads us to the killer."   

            "Ah," She leaned back in her chair.  Dom smiled in satisfaction.  At least something got through.  They actually remained quiet this time.

            "Ok.  Any more questions?  Or can I continue?"  He looked expectantly around the group.  

After a moment, Nick raised his hand.  Dom sighed. 


	10. Hollywood 102

.

* * * * * * 

            He leaned against the table.

            "What?" he looked over at Nick.  Nick gave a smile and put his hand down on the table.

            "Why us?" Dom tilted his head to the side, giving a thoughtful look.

            "Why—you?"

            "Yea, why us?  Why Las Vegas?"  Dom took a moment before answering.

            "Well for one—It's Vegas," he said grinning.  "And two; through my own extensive 'research'—I found that you guys," he motioned to all of them.  "Were one of the best labs in the country."  Nick nodded in agreement.  "And I figured—if I wanted to do this thing right—I should start in the right place," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Nick seemed to ponder that for a moment.

            "Sounds—fair," he relented, leaning back in his chair.  Dom gave a slight nod.

            "Ok then.  So—as I was saying before," he picked up a stack of papers. "I want to learn what you guys already know—and this packet contains all the information that you are to be held responsible for," He quickly passed them out.  "And there are some papers that need to be signed—but we don't have to worry about that until later."  He clapped his hands together; and gave them a moment to look over the papers.  Grissom for one; didn't look amused as he read the print.

"Ok—so what do you guys think so far?"  He looked expectantly around the table.  There was no immediate response.

"Sounds—interesting," Nick replied, tossing the packet onto the table.  "But will it work?"

"What do you mean?"  

Nick gave a small smile as he leaned forward.

"What I mean is, that-" he paused, searching for the right words.

"What I think my man Nick here is tryin' to say—is that—is the public ready for this?  Are they ready to see what we see?"  Warrick helped.    Nick nodded his approval.  They looked at Dom.  

He thought about that for a moment.

            "Well—think about what's on TV now," he posed.  "Have you seen the stuff on MTV nowadays?"  They thought about that for a moment.  "I mean c'mon, that's not even counting what happens on like, ER and—NYPD Blue."

            "I—guess," Warrick didn't sound convinced.  

            "Barriers are being broken down even as we speak.  Violence—profanity—nudity—it's becoming more common place nowadays."  He paused.

            "So what you're saying; is that, it's ok for television to depict violence—because it sells." Grissom remarked.  Dom thought about that for a moment.

            "No—I'm not saying that at all-"

            "You just did."  Dom sighed.

            "Actually; I didn't.  The point I'm trying to make—sir—is that the public is ready for a show like this," he looked straight at Grissom, who was now scowling at him.  "Violence does not necessarily sell—it's the good storyline; or the acting, or the believability.  There needs to be something more than just mindless violence."  

Grissom seemed to mull over that for a few moments.

            "I mean, think about it—the public is ready for a change.  They are getting tired of shows like ER—that seem to start out plot driven—but then in a couple episodes, turn into their own soap opera," he took a breath.  "They are looking for a quick paced story—something with snap—not a romance novel."  

            "I like ER," Sara said defensively.  Dom looked down at her and smirked.

            "You _would," he teased.  She made a face at him.  He turned to the rest of the group._

            "The publ-"

            "When do you have time to watch it?" Cath interrupted—saying what everyone else was already thinking.  "You're always here."  Sara glared at her.

            "I tape it,"  she retorted.

            "Oh." Cath still seemed taken aback.

            "So—there wouldn't be any type of 'romance' angle at all?" Nick asked, trying to get the conversation back.  Dom tapped his pen in on the back of his hand.

            "Well—see—I really don't know; they haven't really developed anything yet—as in character wise.  That's why I'm here," he grinned.  "But for my honest opinion—I think there should be—just not overly."  

He paused.  

"I'm a fan of subtlety," he added offhandedly.  

Nick seemed to agree.  

Silence.

            "Why?" he asked, eyeing Nick.

            "O-a-just wondering," he replied sheepishly.  Everyone turned to look at him.  "What?  I like a little love every now and then," he explained, embarrassed.  

Dom gave an amused look, but then returned to looking down at his notes. 

            "Ok—so before I move on—any questions?"

After a moment; Catherine raised her hand again.  Dom sighed.

 "Yes?"

            "Why else did you choose Vegas?" he gave her an exasperated look.

            "If you were listening—we've already covered that-," he checked his watch.  "Ten minutes ago."  She shrugged that comment off.

            "Well—why Vegas?  Why not—the FBI?" she was fishing for something. 

            He took a moment before replying.

            "If I was told to go federal; I would have.  But since I wasn't—there was no need."  He was tapping his pen on the table top now.  "Plus you probably need—like—clearance or something like that."

            "So—you didn't even look into it?" she leaned on the table, staring at him. He looked blankly at her.

            "Well—no." 

            Silence

            "Cath—does it really matter?" Nick was trying to reason with her.  "So he didn't go with the feds—would you?"  The group seem to find that comment funny—even Grissom managed a smile.  

She sighed.

            "I guess you're right Nick," he seemed pleased with that.  "But I was just wondering—why Vegas," she slowly looked towards Dom. 

He shifted uneasily.  He didn't know where she was going with this.

            "Are you saying that it wasn't a good choice?" he asked slowly, looking at her.  Grissom turned to stare at her too; waiting to see her answer. 

            "No," she shook her head.  "I was just wondering if there were any other options," she drawled.  Dom bit his lip.

            "Like?"

            "Like—Miami?  They've got a good system down there." 

            "Well-"

            "Or St. Louis."

            "N-"

            "Or Boston perhaps."  

            He bit his lip.

            "I've heard they aren't-"

            "Or what about somewhere in California.  Like Sacramento-or L.A.—or even San Francisco.   They're pretty good,"  She raised an eyebrow.  "At least they used to be."  He gripped the table.  

            "What about San Francisco?" Sara interrupted.

            "Catherine—where are you going with this?" Nick asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

            "Yea Cath—what's up with that?" Warrick chided her.  However Grissom remained quiet, looking impassively over at Sara.  She didn't notice; she was to busy watching Dom.

            "O—I don't know," Cath replied, rolling her eyes towards Dom.  He looked down at the table, not saying a word.  Grissom blinked a few times, his eyes glistening.  He slowly looked over at Dom, who was still looking down.  He bit the inside of his cheek—as if in doing so, would help him hide his emotions.  

He gave a loud audible sigh.

            _I do. _

            A beeper went off.


	11. Wardrobe and Costuming

Int. Lounge

A beeper went off.  

Dom inhaled sharply—he wasn't excepting that—but it did come at the right moment.  

The majority of the group became distracted.  However—Grissom continued to stare at him.  Dom didn't meet his gaze, instead rather, choosing to look down at his hands.  A loud audible sigh came from the other end of the table.

"It's Greg," Nick read off his pager.  He looked at Warrick.  They exchanged nods.

"Let's go," Warrick lamented.  The two men stood up.

"We'd love to stay and chat—but we've got a vandalist to catch," Nick said with a grin.  Catherine glared at him.  He turned his attention towards Dom. "Yea—nice meeting you," he extended his hand.  Dom looked up, slightly surprised. 

"We-we'll talk more later," he replied, shaking his hand.

"Yea."  Dom pursed his lips together, but held back a remark.  He gave a slight nod to Warrick as the two men exited the lounge.  He sighed heavily.  He closed his eyes for a moment—as if trying to calm himself.  He turned back towards the three.  

"So—"  he looked down at the table.  He didn't want them to look at him.  He couldn't handle their stares right now.  He was panicking—and he had no idea why.  He stared at the words on the paper—but he couldn't read them.  'Get a hold of yourself' he mumbled quietly.  He took a deep breath in.  That helped a little bit.

"Dom?"  He twitched.

"Yea?" He looked at Catherine.  She studied him for a moment.  He seemed…afraid?

"You all right there?"  He blinked.  "You look a little—pale."  He seemed perplexed by that statement—he was actually at a loss for words.

"I'm a—I'm fine," he gave a cheesy grin.  She still eyed him cautiously.  Grissom checked his watch again.

"I thought you said this was going to be quick," he reminded curtly.  Dom made a face.

"It would be—minus the interruptions," he gave a small smile to Catherine, he didn't mean any harm.  Grissom was not amused.

"Feel free—to continue at any time," he replied callously.  Dom didn't look at him—he stared blankly at the world in front of him.  His anger was rising.  He exhaled slowly.

"Right sir—and if you give me a chance—I will in fact carry on," he tapped his pen on the table top.  Grissom gave him a slight shrug.

"Then by all means—continue."  He gave a weird smile.  Dom looked at him for a moment, studying him.  Grissom raised his eyebrows; taunting him.  Dom became disturbed. 

"O-o-ok," he stepped back from the table.  "Any questions before I begin—again?"  He looked expectantly at the three.  They in turn; looked at each other.  After a moment—Grissom raised his hand.  Dom didn't even try to hide his shock.  

"O wow-"  

Grissom scoffed, causing him to receive a glare from Sara.  He didn't notice.

"Y-yes—to the man in dressed in black," Dom pointed towards Grissom.  The older man glanced quickly down at his outfit; then back up at Dom.

"What's wrong with black," Dom shrugged; tossing his pen on the table.

"Nothing—really—I-I  was just saying-"

"Uh-huh."  Grissom glared at him.  Dom closed his eyes and gave an angry sigh.  Grissom leaned forward.  "Mr. Henley—I feel that you-"

"He has a point."  Grissom slowly turned to look at Catherine—As did Dom.  

'I do?' he mouthed.  She shrugged.  

"It could be a little—more…colorful," she leaned back in her chair.  "That's all."  Grissom frowned at her.  

"That's all," he repeated.

"_Well—"  he eyed her warily._

"Dress code policy states—that employee wear should be modest and-"

"Non-obtrusive to other members of the staff—thus not interfering with their work," Cath finished for him; rolling her eyes.  "That doesn't mean dress in black—every day—of every month—of every _year."  _

Grissom looked down at his outfit again.

"What's wrong with black?  They say it's a very soothing color-"

"And very slimming too," Dom chimed in.   

Both looked at him for a moment; then shook their heads.  

Sara gave a small laugh.  

Dom made a face at her.

"Grissom—just because it's 'soothing', doesn't mean wear it 24/7," Catherine leaned forward.  "I mean what's—what's wrong with some color?  Some—life?"  He paused, his face contorting into a frown.

"I do wear 'color'-"

"Dark brown doesn't count," Sara pointed out.  

Grissom glanced over at her—she smirked; he scowled.

"Besides—"

"Gil," he looked back over at Catherine.  "Live-n up a little.  Wear some reds—or some blues," she drawled.  "It'll be good for you."  She clasped her hands together, and stared intently at him.  

He leaned back in his chair slowly.  He bit his lip nervously.

"What—what does that have to do with-"

"Yea—I know someone who could help you out," Dom interjected.  "They're good—_real good.  They have good taste."  Grissom glared at him.  _

Dom sat down quickly.

"Gil—just live it up a little.  Wear a tee-shirt—or two.  Wear some khakis-"

"Khakis?"

"Or jeans.  Or just—something," Catherine sighed.  "You'll feel better for it."  Grissom blinked a few times.

"Feel better for it?"  

Catherine gave a slight shrug.  

"For _what?"  _

She sighed.

"Black is so---depressing," she tapped her fingers on the table top.  He remained quiet, looking down at the table.  She stopped tapping.  

She smiled.

"Plus—it'll give Sara something to look forward too."


End file.
